


Post Credits: Stranger Things

by astrapoetica



Series: Steve Rogers Keeps His Socks On When He's Making Whoopie [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrapoetica/pseuds/astrapoetica
Summary: Natasha visits the only doctor who might be able to help her when her pregnancy takes a terrifying turn. Also known as: Do not have sex with Steve Rogers. You will get pregnant, and you will die.Post Credits to the Steve Rogers Wears His Socks When He's Making Whoopie Series.





	

"Well Miss Romanov, you certainly seem to have found yourself in quite a situation."

Stephen Strange is even weirder than Natasha pictured him. A few months ago she had started hearing whispers about a man named the Sorcerer Supreme, and some sort of cosmic battle between him and a death-entity that had gone down in Hong Kong and then been erased from time and space. Still there were those who knew, who felt the shock waves on a psychic level. And who knew about the man Kaecilius and his band of heretics and what they had done.

It was only odd happenstance that Natasha had found herself in Hong Kong at that time. An old friend had called in a favor, promising to pay her, and money was something she sorely needed right know.

Strange sips from his tea, and watches her through the steam. The man seems like nothing so much as a large sprawling feline, all carefully coiled grace and power. His angular cheekbones and the affected manner of his speech makes him seem like he was born to be some sort of wizard-king. _Are we really free to choose our lives or are they chosen for us?_

He's given her some sort of tea as well. It's a greenish yellow color, and some of the leaves swirl around at the bottom of her cup when she tilts it to examine the contents. It smells fruity and peculiar, both similar to tea she has had before and yet somehow totally different. Her stomach has been bothering her a lot lately, and she isn't quite sure she wants to drink something offered by a bizarre man in a robe who claims to travel between dimensions using the power of his mind alone.

But he makes a gesture at her, and she gamely raises the cup to her lips. She sincerely hopes he isn't trying to poison her. As a child she had been slowly exposed to an array of poisons, and now she has an immunity to most of them. Which means if he's trying to poison her, all he's getting is a fierce kick in the ass. And she really wants her morning to be as pleasant as possible.

She's already nervous enough. Being back in New York and so close to Stark Tower - even if Stark supposedly isn't there anymore - is giving her an anxiety attack. On her walk here from the subway stop, she had been flooded with memories of the happy times the Avengers had shared before Ultron and before the Civil War scattered them apart.

A tiny moan of pleasure escapes her without her permission. This is by far the best tea she has ever had in her life.

Strange smiles at her, settling further back into his armchair. He's hung up a red cloak nearby on a coat rack, and she swears the thing is moving on its own, turning to give her a tiny wave. Her eyes widen. What kind of place is this anyway?

"So I'm assuming that the father of your child must also be someone of ... particular abilities." Strange's eyes seem like they are burrowing into her. They're a cerulean blue, cool like tropical oceans, and it seems like they are drawing her into their undertow.

She snaps back to herself with a start. Was he doing something to her? Some sort of truth spell? Can people even do that outside of Harry Potter books? She supposes he is some sort of wizard after all and takes another sip of her tea. Ultimately it doesn't matter if he's putting some sort of whammy on her, she has to tell him the truth, because she's run out of her own resources to solve this problem. Strange is her last hope.

"I would rather leave his name out of it," she says. "But yes."

Strange stands, stroking the sides of his goatee, and sets his tea on the mantle. He stares into the fire as if lost in thought. It's easier to talk now that he isn't looking at her, and she continues.

"As I said, I was infertile, and now..." she points at her swollen stomach. She's almost six months pregnant, and the baby she carries is starting to weigh her down. She's been traveling for the past few months, bouncing from city to city. Soon though she is going to have to find a permanent residence. She's running out of time.

"And now you rather aren't," Strange says with a laugh, turning to regard her again with a tilt to his head, hands clasped behind his back. "This would, of course, be far easier if you would divulge the name of the father." He sighs at the look on her face. "But naturally not. Miss Romanov, I was once a world-renowned physician. Discretion is in my nature." A pause. "Operating without specific parameters however is not. I need details. Data."

"I cannot make bricks without clay?" she returns, finishing the Sherlock Holmes quote for him with ease.

He laughs. "You are indeed as clever and charming as I have heard, Miss Romanov."

Natasha frowns, and he waves a hand. "Do not expect me to divulge my sources if you will not share your own. Suffice it to say that I keep tabs on all those who might... prove useful one day."

"Or problematic?"

He nods. "Indeed Miss Romanov."

He resumes his seat by the fire. He's forgotten his teacup on the mantle and he gestures towards it with his fingers. The cup flies neatly into his outstretched hand.

"Very well," he goes on. "Please describe the nature of your problem. If it is the simple fact of pregnancy then I daresay you would have consulted another type of practitioner."

She can't help but laugh. He's charming in an old-world sort of way. And so utterly pretentious and full of himself. Just as her friend had described. "Well I'm unsure how this pregnancy began at all. I'm not... unhappy. Just confused."

"And you say that you do not know what method was used to secure your infertility?"

She frowns. What a weird way to put it. "No, they never told me what they did to me."

He shrugs, lazily reaching out and refilling his teacup from the kettle. "Then it is quite impossible to narrow down what method was used to rectify the situation. But the DNA of the father often effects the mother during pregnancy. So whatever it is that gives your erstwhile partner his powers was passed onto you via..." He pauses with his hand on the tea kettle top, searching for a delicate word. "Via biological transference."

Another indolent gesture makes steam pour out of the kettle. He's reboiling it using magic, she realizes. She can't help but give an involuntary shudder, thinking that if he and Wanda ever dated their children would be born as gods among men. She suspects the Vision might have something to say about it if Strange ever made a move on Wanda though.

"Is that even possible?" she asks him.

"Oh yes," he replies. "Please do have more tea, it's hot again. But yes, the scientific term is male microchimerism. Quite a controversial topic. Most don't believe it's real. But then again..." He waves a hand in the air, gesturing at everything around them, from the cloak that is fluttering on its own to his house full of enchanted objects and one grinning Sorcerer Supreme, "One could say that our lives are built on the impossible."

Natasha refills her teacup. The fatigue and exhaustion that have dogged her steps for months feel like they're lifting up like a fog. Even her brain feels more alert. What's in this tea anyway?

"I broke a table the other day," she confesses to him in a rush.

He cocks a brow at her. "Curiouser and curiouser," he murmurs. "I take it by your discomfiture this is not the norm for your own particular abilities?"

"Definitely not. I mean, I went through strength training as a child. But I never..." she swallows, trying to control her fear about what's happening to her. "But this is something else."

"What other symptoms have you noticed?"

"I feel tired and exhausted all the time."

"That can be quite normal during pregnancy."

She sighs. "Yes, but it's constant, and it's getting worse. Just getting out of bed can be nearly impossible."

His eyes wander back to the fire. "Perhaps you are changing, Miss Romanov. Biological change can put undue stress on the body. That is the most likely cause of your ailment."

"What am I becoming?" she asks, feeling tears well up at the corners of her eyes. Damn hormones. Her next question is almost a whisper: "Is it dangerous for the baby?"

"It would be much easier you realize, if you would just tell me the nature of their father. From that much can be determined about a potential child."

She says nothing, just tries to discreetly wipe at the corners of her eyes. He sighs, stands up, and sets his teacup down on the mantle yet again. He rubs his hands together. "There is something I can try," he says.

Natasha looks at him with an apprising glance. She isn't sure she trusts him, but this is her last best chance. Time to take a leap.

She nods her consent.

"Please stand up for me," he instructs her and she stands, setting her teacup down. She hopes this is going to be brief. Between the tea and the baby sitting on her bladder, she really needs to use the restroom.

Another hand motion from Strange and bright, glowing lights erupt from him in a breath taking symmetrical pattern. She can't contain her gasp. He smiles and waves his hand and the pattern surrounds her, enveloping her in its light. One ring rotates around herself, another smaller one rotates around her stomach. The tiny glyphs surrounding her head and stomach begin to rotate and change almost instantaneously, and the sorcerer walks around her, looking at them as if he's interpreting. They're nothing but nonsense to her, but they must make sense to him, because he's nodding, muttering to himself as he goes.

She opens her mouth at one point to try to ask something, but he cuts her off with a sharp gesture.

After what feels like an interminable eternity, he waves his hands again, and the glowing patterns disappear. The room feels much darker suddenly than it did before. Strange's eyes are lost in what feels like a sudden blindness. But his voice rings out clearly, crystal velvet in the darkness:

"I did not know that you and Captain Rogers were involved," he says, and she feels her heart sink.

He retakes his spot by the couch, reboiling the water in the kettle again. She is still standing, feeling like she wants to run. He knows now, and he could tell anyone. He could tell Ross, he could Stark... or Steve, oh Steve.

Strange looks at her still standing there, and huffs impatiently. "Do sit. I will not divulge the nature of your relationship with Captain Rogers without your consent. I told you I am discreet. However..." he draws out the word, and she hangs onto every syllable. "The reason I checked, dear Miss Romanov, is that the intelligence I have on you once linked you to a very different sort of man."

 _Bruce_ , she realizes, _he's talking about Bruce. He thought that_....

"The nature of such a child, to be quite honest, worried me greatly. Now I am much relieved."

She sinks down onto the chair across from him, retaking her spot. Her teacup flies at her, urging itself towards her hand. She takes it numbly. "No," she tells him. "Bruce and I were never..."

"Captain Rogers is altogether another sort of man," Strange goes on as if he's not even listening to her. "What an intriguing puzzle. I will help you Miss Romanov. With whatever you require." He pauses as if for dramatic impact. "And I will do it in exchange for whatever you can tell me about your friend Karl Mordo." 

**Author's Note:**

> Is male microchimerism real? I honestly don't know. I'm the least scientific person ever. But here are some super random articles I found about it: 
> 
> *https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/scientists-discover-childrens-cells-living-in-mothers-brain/  
> *http://www.latimes.com/health/la-heb-women-brain-microchimerism-20120926-story.html*http://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0045592#pone.0045592
> 
> Warning for the ick! factor.


End file.
